


Fires Over Menae

by Mysti_Fogg



Series: A Turian Fairytale [2]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adrien Victus POV, Alien Culture, Alien Mythology/Religion, Fairy Tale Elements, Fire, Gen, Mass Effect 3, Military Science Fiction, Turian Spirits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysti_Fogg/pseuds/Mysti_Fogg
Summary: Turians have stories for all four of the Spiritual elements: land, water, air, and fire. But where everyone enjoys a good story of the sand, clay, and rock, of Palaven giving birth to the turian race, people avoid fire stories.There can be only one ending when a Spirit of fire takes an interest in mortal affairs: Everything burns.
Relationships: Female Shepard & Garrus Vakarian, Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Series: A Turian Fairytale [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1371154
Comments: 32
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy N7 Day. 
> 
> Per my unintentionally started tradition, I now must post a really sad chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy.

_Fire seared Palaven. The land baked in the merciless blaze. Then she cracked open, ready to receive the ashes of her children._

_ Fire had tested turian after turian._

_All failed._

_All fell._

The assault began at second light, when Menae rose over Palaven and the troops saw her heart ablaze. General Adrien Victus stood in the light of a dying city spoke to his troops until rage overtook fear at the shocking breach of their carefully planned lines of defense. They could not return home to save their families. Their duty was to wait here, protect the landing strips that would allow the Hierarchy to take the Reapers from the rear. His brothers and sisters in arms must stand their ground and fight with the fury of those who have nothing left to lose and nowhere left to go in the slim hope it will save the husbands, wives, and children left behind in burning homes.

Victus was proud of his people. As his division dwindled from 18,000 strong to 14,000 after the first week in which they'd underestimated their enemy, his soldiers stood their ground. Now, after a month of fighting, they're at half strength but running like a well-oiled machine because there is no room for thought, only kava and stims and discipline and rest snatched between gunfire. 

And when they wake there is always fire in the skies, renewing their anger and desperation. If they could win this battle ... if they could win the next ... maybe maybe maybe they could put out the red death creeping over their homeworld. 

The temptation to rush is ever-present. Messilina is at the local battery in their home city of Tromentina, if it still stands, tracking the ammo stores and keeping up the family Spirit of the children not yet ready for boot camp. Marcus had won the village scouting tournament, returning with fresh food scavenged from the ruins of a distant gas station. "He thinks like you," she had said in her last missive. Adrien the Younger is leading a squadron of fighters on the other side of the moon and was reported alive five days ago. Five days ... is a long time. Gravia is on Nanus, crossing his path nightly so close that he can see her station with his naked eye through the void of space. And Tarquin ... young Tarquin is away at Invictus, running training simulations, waiting to be called.

As he sits in his command station, Victus regrets that he cannot lose himself in battle fervor. His is the head that has to be clear and tranquil no matter the provocation or losses because if it is not, their situation will become worse. Rage is great for when you are in a battle, giving you strength and stamina and mental fortitude beyond a normal turian, but when you are trying to plan one, it clouds your judgment; makes you focus on the wrong things; gets your comrades killed.

_It gets the primarch killed,_ he castigates himself as he stares listlessly at the map of his losses.

"Sir!" Lt. Colonel Cassius, his surviving aide-de-camp, interrupts his thoughts, his mandibles covered with green Palaven markings quivering.

"Yes, Cassius?" he says levelly.

"It's ... Major Kosta is back."

Victus strides to the ramparts and stares at the advancing hoard of bodies. On the horizon he can pick out his redoubtable second aide-de-camp. Kosta moves as if wires are strung through the top of his carapace, and the ability to raise his head an unnecessary inconvenience. It used to be that the dead stayed dead. But no more. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Fire espied a new turian. His eyes were grim as he strode through the ashes of his people raining down around him. One more came to be tested, thought the Spirit. One more would burn._

On a day less harried, when the Reapers seemed like a story to frighten children, Captain Aegidius (Spirits rest him, they'd been able to reclaim that body) had asked, "What about that scar?" as he sat in the command center fulfilling his duties as junior aide-de-camp by washing Victus's footwraps. 

Victus looked up from his dispatches -- all of them indicating nothing had happened, was happening, or would ever happen in this peculiar posting of a still-active decorated general in the safe center of turian space -- to turn an ear to the scuttlebutt.

"He may tell the tale truthfully," said Lt. Colonel Cassius. "But I'm sure it's a blind soldier's story: We're supposed to believe he survived being hit in the face by a _rocket_?" _Only a child would believe something like that._

Aegidius stubbornly scuffed the floor of the command center in the sign to ward off death. His mandibles with their white Palaven markings quivered with suppressed hurt at the insult. "It looks like he was burned."

"And I'm telling you," said Cassius. "It isn't true." _I don't know why you would believe that lunatic._ "It's only dramatic attention-seeking."

"And you would know," said Major Kosta from his position slumped on the crates he'd organized after overseeing the unpacking of the latest shipment of supplies. He brushed a talon across the top of his mouthplate as he blandly quoted Cassius's often repeated lineage, "Because you're the son of the great Flavia Cassius, lead orator of _Tales of our Foremothers_; and Aravarus Cassius, star of _Fleet and Flotilla_; and grandson of Daxtros Cassius, The Man With a Thousand Hearts, All of Them True."

"Talents run in families, and with them come other conditions," said Cassius stiffly. "Such as being high-strung."_And being sadly familiar with the behavior._

"Vakarian was a security officer and so was his father," Aegidius chirped up. "Security personnel are cold and logical. They see enough drama that they don't need to make it up. That's what my uncle says. " _Maybe it's all real._

"Or maybe he merely has no excuse for his outrageous embellishments of reality."

"But ... do you believe him, sir?" asked Aegidius, turning to the general. "About ... about the scar and the rocket and the Reapers?"

Victus set aside his stylus and tilted his head in consideration. An asari or salarian commander might lie for the good of morale. Sometimes he envied them that option. For a turian, the choice was always between saying nothing or saying something that either showed doubt or committed you to a course of action without knowing all of the facts. "I have no basis to believe he is lying about the rocket since have have no access to his personal records," said Victus carefully. "I do believe that there is a threatening force known as the 'Reapers.' However, what these Reapers are is unclear."

"Indeed," said Cassius. "AI ships? Dead humans captured on Eden Prime and reanimated? Genetically manipulated protheans? It seems as if 'Reaper' could mean anything and everything." _A little too convenient._ "They may as well set us to fight renegade Spirits."

"And mind control," added Major Kosta. _If you can believe it._ He tapped the red spot in the center of his forehead, a relic of the Unification War when the Magna colony decided to proclaim their superiority by daring their foes to take the first shot because they would not live to take a second. 

"Perhaps that explains the primarch raising a security guard 21 citizenship ranks overnight." _It's utterly ridiculous._

Major Kosta shook his head tiredly. "Watch your words, Cassius." _The primarch deserves your respect._

"Of course, of course." Cassius sighs. "Just ... it's unheard of to rise so high so quickly when we're not at war with anyone." Resentment colors his voice as he drops a bundle of reports back in their crate. "General Victus outranks Vakarian and is a far better strategist. He should be in charge of the whole operation."

"Your pride in our unit does you credit as always Cassius," Victus says mildly, long since used to his underling's outbursts. "However, General Izod has charge of this planet, and the primarch rules the solar system. I'll be here when they need me." Despite his call for reasonableness, he can't keep his own subharmonics from declaring _As they always do._

"It's frustrating, sir, to see your position reduced. And Vakarian's boasts are a blow to the pride of our unit. . ." Cassius's crest flexes upward in irritation. "Best stategist on Palaven. Best sniper in the galaxy. Ha!"

"Vakarian will find his place," said Victus. "There's no sense getting the men worked up about it."

"But the way he walks about as if he commands the moon--"

"_Enough,_ Cassius." _You're creating divisions where we should be unified._ "He will be tested in time as we all are." 

The room was quiet for a span of seconds as Aegidius wrung out the laundry with quick, nervous twists. Lt. Colonel Cassius stared pointedly at the red starburst on Major Kosta's forehead as the man tried to ignore him.

Kosta sighed. "It's never too soon to learn one's place. With your permission, sir, I'll set up a shooting contest with the toops the next time Vakarian is scheduled to come by." _It's not good to let discontent fester._

Victus raised a browplate. "I have no doubt Vakarian is actually a good shot." 

"Of course, sir. But there is the matter of colonial pride to maintain." _ Vakarian does have a way of challenging my patience with Palaveni arrogance._ "Besides, a bit of friendly competition is good for morale."

#

General Vakarian was delighted at being invited to join the coincidentally scheduled shooting competition. And the troops were delighted at the distraction. The various unit commanding officers selected 59 turians worthy of competing for the honor of the unit alongside Major Kosta. Their guest raised the number of participants to 61, obscuring the fact that his inclusion was planned.

All passed the most basic round -- shooting a standing target at 24 meters -- and thus proved above average competence. The target retreated to 30 meters ... then 48 ... then 57 ... Competitors were slowly disqualified until at 69 meters only 21 soldiers remained and the challenge changed to moving targets launched into the air at increasing distances.

The numbers fell quickly after that until only two remained: Kosta and Vakarian. The crowd was alive with bets being shouted across makeshift bleachers and credit chits being exchanged as the troops were on the edge of their seats with excitement:

"Who do you think will win?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! I have a month's pay riding on Vakarian."

"My money's on Kosta. He didn't get his position by sweet talking the primarch."

"And the primarch wouldn't be persuaded unless Vakarian knew his way around a gun."

"Still not betting, sir?" Quartermaster Baracus broke through the chatter of the crowd behind his box. 

Earlier Victus had declined to avoid showing favoritism among his men... but that was no longer a consideration. "300 credits on Kosta and the honor of the unit." The quartermaster happily took his bet and wandered off to spread the news of Victus's pick as the last contestants approached his viewing box for a fresh glass of water as the next set of targets was prepared.

"You're not bad, Vakarian," said Major Kosta, sipping his whiskey.

"I think I'm actually damn good," Vakarian quipped so casually it must have been meant to needle his opponent.

"It takes me back," replied Kosta, unruffled. "I haven't had this long of a competition since the 15-year-old recruitment tournaments." His mandibles twitched with pride. "I was first place for rifles in the Magna Draft of '44."

"Palaven Draft of '73." The young general dipped his head uncomfortably and scanned the field. "I ... um... placed somewhere in the top 5 million."

Victus handed him a glass. "I'd say you've improved."

He tapped his visor. "Music. My hands are steadier when there's a soundtrack."

"Clever." In the distance, Captain Aegidius was nearly finished setting up the next batch of targets, his orange marker flag waving over his head. He had reset the targets and launchers so many times that he was tiring, his motions sure but slow. "As entertaining as the troops find this, we may have to call a draw before it's finally resolved."

_Spirits, please, not again._ "I had enough bettors' complaints the last time I was involved in a tie," said Vakarian.

Kosta set down his empty glass. "And you know I don't like leaving tasks incomplete, sir."

"Then I suggest you get out there and finish this contest, major, or I suspect the general will do it for you," said Victus.

"Yes, sir!" said Major Kosta with a salute and a turn to the field.

"Don't like my odds?" asked Vakarian quietly.

"I don't know you, general. I'm still evaluating your odds," said Victus. _And everything else about you._

"Then I haven't lost yet." _Winning this match would be nice, but I'd rather have your respect, sir._

Victus tilted his head in thought. The boy really did look like he'd stepped out of a movie: scar and gun and cocky attitude. But was he real, or was he only playing a part for politics? The only thing to do was judge him on his merits. "Then you are unlikely to lose." _ I will respect your skill, no matter the result._ "But I will be less impressed if the troops are fractious because you made them late to dinner."

Vakarian turned toward the stands. His scar of corded flesh and bits of plate twitched as he took in the mass of men shouting and stamping and drinking heavily. "Then I'll have to win soon." He shrugged his rifle into a more comfortable position and suddenly froze, staring at the sky. His eyes narrowed. 

Victus looked up at the stars twinkling in the unobscured firmament above them. All seemed well. 

But General Vakarian didn't move. Didn't breathe. His eyes were fixed on the lights above them, mandibles drawing taut as energy coiled within him. 

Above them, Victus picked out a red light, and then another, streaking through the darkness. His ancestors would have said they were bad omens. But he didn't believe in gods or titans or spirits. Stories are what histories become: lies we tell each other over time. 

Victus believed in the world around him: in his eyes and brain and gut. He didn't understand what he was seeing, but instinct was telling him that an enemy was arriving. 

He opened a channel on his omni-tool: "All units, report to your stations." 

A collective grumble of disagreement came from the stands. 

"This is not a drill. All units, report to your stations." 

The men responded with varying levels of speed impacted by varying levels of drunkenness. 

"They're not moving fast enough," said Vakarian. He unslung his rifle and stared up at a red star crossing the sky before pulling the trigger. It was not a conventional move, but neither was it panicked. As the sound of the shot that echoed on the open ground, the unit changed from grumpy to alert and orderly. 

"Was that really necessary?" asked Lt. Colonel Cassius, panting from his run across the stands. Major Kosta and Captain Aegidius were making their way in from the field. 

The uncertainty of the young general was gone as he only said, "Yes," in a voice that allowed for no further questions. 

That did not stop Cassius. "But -" 

A meteor hitting the ground in front of them did. 

_No, not a meteor,_ thought Victus as he pulled out his own rifle to shoot at the creatures emerging from it. They looked not like the humans he expected from Vakarian's tales, but like turians. Broken turians who saw without taking their eyes off the ground. 

Caught on the other side of the impact crater, Aegidius, unarmed to ensure the competition couldn't be rigged, rolled up the orange signal flag on its long pole and held it in the ready position as if it were a spear. Unfortunately, it lacked a point. 

Seeing his colleague's situation, Kosta halted on the field and drew his automatic rifle. He began trying to clear a path to the box. Victus and Vakarian coldly and efficiently provided back up as the stands emptied behind them. The blaze of gunfire was the only thing that mattered. 

Aegidius spun and struck, but even if he were a genius at melee combat (which he wasn't), he couldn't dodge the streams of bullets crisscrossing his path. His shields flickered and were extinguished. 

Meanwhile, Kosta ran toward the junior staffer. Of all his aides, Kosta was the reliable one: a career military man who would always finish the mission and find his way back. When his rifle ran out of bullets, he pulled his service pistol and continued on without missing a beat. 

Faster than seemed possible, all the enemies were down. Victus's ears buzzed with the silence after gunfire. Vakarian knelt next to him, scooping up another cartridge of ammunition. Kosta stood practically untouched, his every shot having hit its mark, still the best Magna colony had ever produced. Behind him, Aegidius struggled toward the stands leaning heavily on a flag stained in blue. 

And then a second meteor shattered the ground, releasing more spiritless turians and a great winged worm that roared as it climbed in the skies. 

"Shit," said Vakarian, pulling his sniper rifle as Victus returned to giving his men covering fire. 

It wasn't enough. Aegidius's pole snapped under the second wave of attack and he fell into the dust and was lost. 

Vakarian shot through the monstrous wing blotting out Palaven in the sky. The sky serpent shrieked and dove, snatching up Kosta, who emptied the last of his bullets in its chest and then began beating it with the empty pistol as it carried him farther and farther away. 

Behind them, the turret guns finally entered the fray, firing down on the invaders, driving them back from the field until all the enemies fled or lay dead. 

Victus looked at Cassius hiding in the box beside him and then to Vakarian grimly holding to his gun. The choice of his new right hand man was obvious. "Looks like you'll be extending your stay with us, general. Cassius, find Aegidius before the next assault starts." 

In the distance, another meteor burned through the thin atmosphere carrying another detachment of enemies, and another, and another, until the sky was red with death. 

_Flames engulfed the man. His plates fractured and hardened. Night and day, day and night, his mind burned as his body was tempered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victus's aides-de-camp are based on the US system. A general of his stature would have 3 of the ranks given in the story carrying out both confidential and personal duties.
> 
> B.A. Baracus makes a guest appearance as a turian because his name fits and no one is a better quartermaster than Mr. T. _A Team_, 1983-1987.
> 
> Using current Earth numbers to get an estimate of the Palaven yearly draft, there are approximately 125 million 15-year-old children every year.
> 
> And I have no idea who would actually win a shooting contest between Garrus and Kosta. I decided the story wouldn't be fun to write if Kosta couldn't possibly beat Garrus, but it also wouldn't be fun to write if he was a Mary Sue who definitely could.


End file.
